Rainy Days and Mondays
by Bons Baisers
Summary: Okay, so I couldn't let this story alone. What began in my head as a simple sick-fic is becoming one of the most massively involved stories it has ever been my misfortune to devise... so... begone, thou knavish plot bunnies!
1. Chapter 1

I wrote a Ban sick-fic a while back, and finally decided I had to do one for Ginji, too. This one's a little more light-hearted, though, so be warned. If you like this one, be sure to check out Sick Day. As always, Ban, Ginji, their friends and their world belong to Yuya Aoki and Rando Ayamine. I'm just borrowing them.

**RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS**

Ginji Amano winced as he sat up in the confined space of the 360. His head throbbed madly, the veins at his temples and between his eyes like jackhammers that beat just out of sync with one another. His sniffled and the pressure beneath his eyes squeezed a few tears out. His ears and nose and the back of his throat felt as though someone had stuffed them full of cotton. His partner woke beside him with an ugly glare already pasted onto his face, even though it was only seven o'clock in the morning. Ginji shrank back against the passenger-side door.

"Don't tell me you're sick," Ban Mido warned, brilliant blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't you dare."

Ginji sniffled apologetically in response, but the sniffle tickled his throat – which, now that he thought about it, kinda hurt – and he coughed. Ban's eyes flashed, and he brought a fist down firmly on Ginji's aching head.

"Ow, ow, ow, Ban-chan!" Ginji opened his door and stumbled out of it. The park scenery whirled around him for a minute, and he ended up sitting on his bum in the cold, wet grass, staring dazedly up at the rainy morning sky.

"Idiot! We can't afford for you to get sick!" Ban opened his own door and stomped over to Ginji. With a devilishly firm grip, he latched onto Ginji's wrist and hauled him up on his feet. Ginji wobbled a little bit, but managed to sit down on the passenger bucket seat.

"I told you, I _told_ you that you shouldn't be playing in the rain when it was so cold outside. Geez, you're just like a little kid!" Ban kicked a tire, wincing when he hurt his toe, and glowered at Ginji as if his injured digit was his partner's fault. "You got mud all in the Ladybug, and now you're sick. Can't you do anything without screwing it up?"

Ginji smiled and shrugged sheepishly. Ban pursed his lips and crossed his arms, and knit his brows together furiously over closed eyelids. "Idiot," he said once more, but he didn't sound as angry. Letting out a sharp sigh between gritted teeth, he looked his partner over carefully. "Fever, too, huh."

"Dunno," Ginji admitted candidly. "I feel cold."

A sour look twisted Ban's mouth as he settled the back of a comfortably cool hand against Ginji's forehead. "Fever," he said firmly. A wary look came over his face. "You're not, uh, nauseous or anything, are you?"

Ginji shook his head, and flinched as the jackhammers beat at his temples with renewed fervor.

"Aspirin's in the glove compartment. Stay put; Ill be right back." With that, Ginji's hot-tempered friend sauntered away from the 360, across the park, and out of sight.

Ginji fell asleep before he returned.

A nudge at his shoulder woke him. "Oi, Ginji. Take these." Ban proffered a pair of red tablets to him, along with a bottle of juice. Ginji blinked sleep from his eyes and did as he was told, even though swallowing was hard, what with the cottony feeling and his sore throat.

He screwed the lid back to his juice bottle and rolled his head on the headrest to face Ban. "Did you eat breakfast, Ban-chan?"

Ban waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah." That was a lie, but Ginji knew that Ban knew that he knew it was a lie, so there was no point in raising the subject.

"We've still got a little money left. Probably we would be okay to get a hotel room for the night – we've still got that missing manuscript to find, and if I get that done, we should be okay."

Ginji nodded, feeling more than a little guilty. "The man said that he would pay more the faster we returned it, right, Ban-chan?"

"Right. I'll do a little digging, see what I can come up with. Shouldn't be too hard."

"If that book really has all of the information that that person says it does, there's a lot of people with something to lose, Ban-chan," Ginji replied. He closed his eyes against the morning sun, wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses, like Ban's, to close off some of the light. Almost as if Ban had heard his thoughts, Ginji felt Ban's trademark specs slide crookedly onto his face. He smiled, despite the discomfort of the temple that poked the side of his head. He adjusted the sunglasses.

"Thanks. But what if they've already destroyed Takanowa-san's book?"

He felt, rather than saw, his partner shake his head. "If we assume that the person who took it is one of the corrupt businessmen Takanowa-san mentioned in his book, they have to know they've got a goldmine of information there. They'll keep at least one copy of it around, I'm sure."

"Why?" Ginji asked, shivering a little. He snuffled, and a few more tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

"Blackmail," Ban answered shortly, his tone grim. "With Takanowa-san's house torched, the only evidence of any of those businesses' involvement with that money-laundering scheme is in his book. It could be that they'll clean up their own messes, wipe away any of the evidence he found on them, but not tell their partners how to do the same. That's a lot of bargaining power in a criminal ring."

"Ban-chan is really smart," Ginji marveled. Then he sneezed loudly. "Sorry."

"Here." Ban handed him a box of tissues, conjured from Ginji-didn't-know-where. "I'll drop you off at the Honky Tonk. Give Natsumi a reason to mother you. Maybe Paul'll even give us a break and feed you." He stretched before tugging his keys free from his pocket and starting the car.

"That would be good," Ginji agreed, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He tried breathing normally, but the congestion fouled his attempts, and he started breathing through his mouth instead. Then he realized what Ban had said. "Ban-chan, you can't go alone."

"Why not? You're in the way as often as not, anyway, you dumb eel. Maybe I'll actually pull this one off without a hitch if you're not around."

"But, but Ban-chan, if there are protectors –"

"Then I'll deal with them. It'll be fine. You're no good to me sick." Ban cut him off irritably as he swung the car onto the parkway.

"But what if you get in trouble?"

"I'm the great, powerful, and mighty Ban Mido," Ban replied, with only a trace of humor, "and I'm telling you, it'll be fine. Just concentrate on getting better, so we can actually capitalize on this little bit of luck we've had with jobs lately."

"Okay," Ginji conceded dubiously, reluctant to leave the matter as it stood. "You'll call if you need me, though, right, Ban-chan?"

Ban scoffed, but didn't reply.

"Please, Ban-chan?"

"Ah, whatever. Just go back to sleep, Ginji." Satisfied with the answer, Ginji did as he was told.

* * *

Ban left a feverish, stuffy Ginji with his father's old partner, confident that if anyone could keep him out of trouble, it would be the little waitresses Paul had hired to help out around the diner. Natsumi openly adored Ginji, and Paul and Rena cared more than they would care to admit, so he wasn't too worried about it.

Though the big dummy had picked a hell of a time to get sick. Ban glared at the knuckles of his right hand. Bad luck had a way of following him around, and, if he were honest with himself, it was probably as much Ginji's decision to pair up with him as it was his foolishness in the rain the day before that was responsible for him getting sick.

Not that he'd ever tell Ginji that.

Ban had a list of names that Takanowa had mentioned in his book. He recognized a few of them as CEOs of some of the biggest, most profitable companies in the area, and a quick internet search at the cybercafé proved that the other names were high ranking officials in those same companies.

A little deeper research revealed that a few of the men Takanowa fingered had already been brought up on charges of embezzlement and other white-collar crimes, but nothing had ever stuck. He briefly toyed with the idea that one of them had been responsible for the theft, but quickly discarded that theory. Men that got off the hook once were likely to be the more cautious players in the game, and besides, the ringleaders, the ones with the most to lose, would probably be the ones smart enough never to have been caught in the first place. Ban bit his lip, a little uncertainly, and crossed out three of the eleven names Takanowa had given him.

That was still a lot of ground to cover. Were the CEOs the most likely to be the men in charge? Or were they just riding the coat-tails of some less conspicuous individual, someone the press and company employees wouldn't keep a close eye on? That's what Ban would do, if he were in their position. It was the smart thing to do. But then again, men got to the top of such corporations because they weren't afraid to take risks, or to play hardball.

Well, that was all speculation, and at any rate, none of these men would have been personally responsible for stealing the manuscript. No, there was a low-man on the totem-pole somewhere, and that would be the best place to begin.

Takanowa had said that, since his home had been burnt down, the police had been unable to find any evidence of the burglar that had entered his house. Ban assumed that the thief and the arsonist were one and the same; Takanowa had stowed the final copy of his manuscript in its fire and waterproof safe moments before retiring, so the theft and the arson had to have taken place within a very limited time frame.

According to him, he had been at home and asleep at the time of the burglary and that the fire had started immediately afterward. Soon after that, firefighters arrived on the scene, and managed to get the fire under control before it got to the second floor, where Takanowa had been sleeping. The police had already concluded from the remains of Takanowa's home that nothing but the safe with the manuscript had been disturbed, and that had disappeared without a trace.

Ban frowned. Takanowa's house had a security system installed, a system which had failed to alert the police to the burglar's entrance. The thief had obviously been successful in bypassing the security system. Could he really have forgotten to deal with the smoke alarms?

Ban's frown deepened, and he got up from his computer. Strolling to the counter, he ordered the cheapest sandwich on the menu and then stepped outside to smoke. Anyone with half a brain would know that the only people who would steal the manuscript (or in this case, hire someone to steal it) were those implicated by it, right? And whoever had taken it knew that Takanowa knew they were guilty, whether or not he had the evidence to support it. He remained a very viable threat to their reputations.

Ginji had said that there were a lot of people with something to lose. He was right; men had killed for a lot less than the sums of money these people were dealing with. Takanowa had to know that, and yet, he had been only too happy to supply the Get Backers with the names of the guilty parties.

So, either he was an idiot, or he knew he was untouchable.

Ban blew out a breath of smoke, watching the passersby on the street. A café server rapped the glass on the window to let him know his sandwich was ready; he pointed to his cigarette and then to the computer he had been using. The young man smiled and put the sandwich next to the computer monitor.

Takanowa wasn't stupid, he was sure. His first impression of the man was that he was cleverer than he apppeared. There was just a certain look intelligent people had, a quickness in the movement of the eye that indicated they were observing everything around them, judging and appraising it all, dismissing the unimportant and filing away the interesting for later rumination. Takanowa had that quality. So he had some reason to believe that the men he had incriminated in his manuscript wouldn't, or couldn't, hurt him.

Or, Ban reasoned, maybe the thief had intended that Takanowa should die in the fire? He had been asleep at the time, and smoke inhalation was all too real a threat. But why leave it to chance like that? Especially after failing to disable the smoke detectors. It wouldn't have been that much more trouble to strangle or suffocate a sleeping man, not for a professional, and these men could afford to hire the very best – and had every reason to do so. Leaving Takanowa alive had been surprisingly unprofessional, and stupidly risky.

Takanowa's manuscript had been top secret; only Takanowa and the publishing company knew anything about it – supposedly. The theft and the fire indicated otherwise. Even the publisher hadn't actually had access to the manuscript, thus far; it hadn't been submitted for editing. With Takanowa poised to blow the whole operation, it wasn't the book that was the real danger. It was Takanowa.

And yet, the manuscript was gone, and Takanowa was not. A dumb mistake, by any reasoning. No one involved in this whole damn thing was that foolish.

Ban ground out the butt of his cigarette and went back inside. He took a couple of big bites of the sandwich, realizing for the first time how hungry he was. Looking at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was well past one o'clock. Idly wondering how Ginji was doing, he felt pretty confident that the Honky Tonk crew would have made sure his partner got something to eat. Even Paul couldn't be so cold-hearted as let Ginji go hungry when he was obviously so miserable.

He felt bad about that. He could have told Ginji to get in out of the rain. It wasn't as though Ginji would have refused him. But he was just like a big kid out there, jumping in puddles and catching worms and tadpoles, and drinking up every bolt of lightning that dared flash in the vicinity of Shinjuku, and he couldn't bring himself to end the fun. It was a childhood that they had both been denied, and he privately enjoyed watching Ginji enjoy himself.

Gah. He was getting sentimental again. Ban gulped down the rest of his sandwich and chased it with some ice water, then got back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginji sat next to one of the Honky Tonk's windows, at the front of the café, watching the sluggish drizzle of rain outside. He had crossed his arms on the booth table and laid his head on them, mussing his uncharacteristically limp blond spikes.

"Oi, Ginji!" Ginji slowly rotated his head to see who had called him; his ears were so stuffy that he couldn't identify the speaker by their voice.

"Hi, Shido-kun," he replied, eyes landing on the beast-master's bandana. "What are you doing here?" he asked. To him, his words sounded like unintelligible mumblings, but Shido understood him.

"Meeting Hevn."

Ginji managed a weak smile. "Stealing our jobs again, Shido-kun? Don't tell Ban-chan." He straightened and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Snake Bastard get you sick?" Shido asked bluntly.

He raised his head enough to shake it, and immediately wished he hadn't. He lowered his head again and mumbled, "S'not his fault."

Shido swore. "And where is he now?"

Ginji's eyes were tearing up again, and not all of the moisture was related to the pressure in his sinusitis. "Working. He wouldn't take me with him." He coughed, and huffed miserably.

Shido's hard eyes softened slightly. "I've got to talk to Hevn, but after that, I'm planning on stopping by Madoka's before I get started on whatever it is Hevn's got for me. Madoka would be more than happy to have you, and you look like you could use some serious rest."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea. Ban-chan wouldn't be happy if he didn't know where I was."

Shido looked puzzled. "Ginji, Midou has the mobile phone, right?"

"Mmph," Ginji agreed.

"So you can call him," the beast-master prompted.

"I don't have a phone with me." He opened his mouth to yawn, but wound up sneezing instead. He did manage to sneeze into his arms, and not on Shido.

Shido ran through his hands through his hair, sighing with exasperation. "I do, Ginji. Paul-san has a phone. So do Natsumi-san and Rena-san."

"Oh. Right." His eyelids felt very heavy, and he nuzzled his face more deeply into his arms.

* * *

"Ginji… Ginji?" The lightning lord snored loudly in response. Shido sighed. "Hey, Paul-san?"

"I'll call Ban," Paul replied, waving a dismissive hand over his newspaper. "Go. Pour him into a real bed."

"Thank you." He stooped and dragged Ginji over his shoulders. A few customers started in surprise, but Paul smiled faintly and shook his head, and they settled back into their respective conversations.

Shido was nearly at the door when a small voice made him pause.

"Shido-san? Would it be alright if Rena and I came to visit Ginji-san this evening?"

"Only if you can stay for dinner," he replied matter-of-factly. "Otherwise Madoka would be upset with me for not inviting you."

Both of the pretty little waitresses bobbed their heads in acknowledgement, and Shido carried his old friend outside, where Madoka's new chauffeur was waiting to take him back to his not-so-temporary residence.

The drive to Madoka's was uneventful, and when he pulled up, the pretty girl was waiting on the verandah - the rain had let up somewhat - with Mozart, unseeing eyes turned to the sound of the car.

"Shido-san," she greeted him, a pleased glow in her cheeks. "And…" her brows lowered just a little as she considered, "Ginji-san?"

"He wasn't feeling well," Shido explained. He flushed a little, wondering if he had been too presumptuous in bring Ginji here. It wasn't his home, after all, and –

"In that case, I'll let the house-keeper know that we have a guest." Shido couldn't suppress a smile; he should have known better. "I'm sorry that you aren't feeling well, Ginji-san; is there anything I can do?" she asked, her tone earnest.

"He's sleeping," Shido informed her, hauling Ginji out of the car and into his arms.

"Oh. Please bring him inside, Shido-san. I think I know the perfect room for him." Kneeling, she scratched behind Mozart's ears and whispered something to him. Shido didn't quite catch her words, but understood it to be a request of some kind, judging from Mozart's happy compliance.

He followed the girl and her dog into a wing of the house he had rarely ventured into. It was immaculately clean, but had the artificial feel of a designer show-room, a place no one actually lived. Madoka led him through a drawing room outfitted in cumbersome red and gold fabrics and portentous, heavy oak furniture. She moved through the bulky furnishings with confidence behind Mozart, until she reached the far side of the room where a door stood beside a marble fireplace.

"I don't really like this part of the house." Madoka's tone was apologetic as she reached unerringly for the door handle. "It's just so…" she hesitated, "self-important." Shido had been thinking exactly the same thing, but he didn't say so.

Once again, Shido found that he couldn't suppress a smile. The door was evidently heavy; Madoka had to brace the whole of her slight form to push it open. Mozart turned reproachful eyes on him for being amused when she was going out of her way on his account. Shido shrugged a little to indicate his burden of sleepy Get Backer. The dog conceded the point and led its mistress into the room beyond the door.

"But it is also very, very quiet," Madoka was saying, "because it's far away from the streets, and from the parts of the house where people are working. Ginji-san will be able to rest here."

The bedroom he followed her into was more comfortably decorated than the drawing room, though still expensively furnished. Madoka felt for the cherry four-poster that dominated the room and turned back the comforter, and then she retreated to a corner so that Shido could deposit his friend in the envelope of fine crimson sheets.

"It's lunchtime." How she knew the time of day was beyond him, but he had stopped wondering at her sixth sense for such things. "Do you think Ginji-san will be hungry?" Madoka turned her unseeing eyes to Shido, waiting for a reply.

He hesitated. "Ginji can always eat," he said dubiously, with a glance his old friend.

"I suppose he also needs the rest," she offered helpfully, as if reading his mind. "The food will keep."

"Yes."

They had been speaking quietly, so as not to disturb Ginji, but just at that moment, a blood-curdling, bone-jarring "Shido-han!" rang through the house.

The former thunder god of Infinite Castle bolted upright in the bed, a little wild-eyed. Catching sight of Shido and Madoka, he relaxed. Then, "Shido-han!"

Jumping at the second obnoxious call, Ginji managed to tumble out of the bed, to land with a painful-sounding thud on the hardwood floor.

"Ginji-san!" Madoka cried out, as Shido dropped down beside his fallen friend.

"Ow," Ginji replied, voice thick with congestion. A pair of tears streamed down his face, and he swiped at them, snuffling miserably. "Is that Emishi?" he asked, with a choked cough.

Shido wrapped an arm around Ginji's ribs and pulled him upright. Ginji sank back onto the bed.

"Shido-han!"

"I'm going to go deal with that," Shido said, nodding briefly at Madoka.

"So much for Ginji-kun's rest." Madoka smiled, although the expression looked a little strained. She was a very quiet, reserved sort of person, and Emishi was precisely the opposite.

"I'll get rid of him," Shido assured her, and moved for the door.

"Oh, no, Shido-san, it's fine." She bowed quickly at Ginji and ran after Shido. "If we tell him that Ginji-kun is ill, I'm sure he will try to be quiet."

Shido snorted. "Try, yes. Succeed? I doubt it."

* * *

Ban sauntered down the street, hands stuffed in his pockets, cigarette clenched tightly between his teeth.

He had a stolen manuscript, a surprisingly alive author, and almost a dozen rich, powerful men with a lot to lose.

"Who ends up richer and more powerful?" Ban wondered aloud. He came to a park fountain and sat down on the lip, hands still in his pockets, cigarette still in his teeth. He grimaced, realizing belatedly that the rain had left the concrete lip of the fountain wet.

Any of the men implicated in Takanowa's book could use the book for blackmail. But, they had absolutely no reason to keep Takanowa alive.

There. That was the crux of the matter, that was the thing he had to find the truth of – why no one had tried to kill Takanowa, and why he seemed so comfortably oblivious to the idea that someone might be tempted to do so.

Several school age children were playing in the park. He watched them absently, mind racing behind his sunglasses.

Maybe the man responsible for the theft just didn't have the stomach for murder, he thought. Maybe he thought that, without the manuscript, Takanowa wouldn't dare open his mouth. The jump between embezzlement and murder was a big one, after all; he could understand that someone wouldn't be able to make the leap.

It wasn't bad reasoning, anyway, not really. Takanowa's research notes had been in his safe, with the manuscript, and on his computer, which had been destroyed in the fire. Without evidence, Takanowa's claims were like so many conspiracy theories – conceivable, perhaps even likely, but impossible to prove. Besides which, the thief would certainly use what information he found there to cover his tracks, so that Takanowa wouldn't be able to finger him again.

Ban decided that it was entirely possible that, to avoid blood on their hands, someone had been willing to gamble on Takanowa not being a threat.

But why wasn't Takanowa afraid? At their initial meeting, the man had exuded intelligence and confidence. Surely some of the men on his list were capable of murder, or at least of purchasing the services of a killer-for-hire, even if the one responsible for the theft wasn't. And as soon as the manuscript got out of its owner's hands, there was an off chance that one of those would-be killers would discover his little exposé. He _should_ be afraid for his life, dammit.

Ban ground out the butt of his cigarette on the red bricks that circled the base of the fountain.

Moving on, because he was irritated with his lack of success thus far, he considered the other thing that had really stuck out to him: that the thief had failed to disable the smoke detectors in Takanowa's house. The police had confirmed that the arsonist had had at least a rough idea of what he was doing. Leaving the smoke alarms on was unforgivably stupid.

In fact, it was so ridiculous that Ban discarded the entire idea that the oversight had been unintentional. The thief, or the person who had hired the thief, had wanted the authorities at Takanowa's house.

But then, if that was true, why bother with the much, much more complicated security system? Ban shook that thought away; the answer was obvious. They hadn't wanted to wake Takanowa.

Could it be that they genuinely wanted to avoid bloodshed that badly, that they wanted to be sure the fire department would arrive in time to save Takanowa?

No, it just didn't add up. That was going a little far with his squeamish white-collar crook theory, and besides, there was no guarantee that the firefighters would have made it in time. There had to be another reason that the thief had wanted the authorities to show up.

One of the children in the park had a big mutt with him. He had a beat-up old tennis ball that he threw for the shaggy creature, who returned it with more enthusiasm than such a sorry toy should have inspired, even for a dumb animal.

Suddenly, Ban's eyes narrowed, focused on the boy and his dog. The kid, maybe ten or eleven years old, had a mean streak: he pretended to throw the ball, and laughed as his pet raced away from him, looking for the nonexistent toy.

The kid relented, calling the animal back to him and waving the tennis ball.

Damn.

Ban lit another cigarette and watched the children for awhile. If Ginji had been there, he would have been out in the field with them, even wet and muddy as it was.

Just as he wrinkled his nose at the thought of Ginji's tracking even more mud into his beloved car, the grey skies began to weep again. Irritated with his messy, sick partner, the mean kid and his stupid dog, the nasty weather, and his lying bastard of an employer, Ban hunched over against the cold rain and headed back to the Ladybug.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so mean to poor Ginji. And poor Emishi, as you'll see. But man, they're just so easy to pick on. Wish they belonged to me...

* * *

Fuuchouin Kazuki shook his head, exasperated. His sharp ears detected Shido long before the Beast-Master appeared. The footfalls were quick and purposeful, and followed by the lighter, less certain tread of Madoka. Kazuki supposed Emishi thought that his warbling, sing-song calls were amusing. He personally found it irksome, but there was no accounting for taste. Particularly when the person whose questionable predilections had grown up in Mujenjou.

A low sigh behind him belied Juubei's irritation with their unwanted hanger-on. Kazuki discretely reached back to his friend and brushed his fingers against Juubei's in commiseration.

"Emishi!"

Shido barged into the room, eyes flashing, and went for Emishi's throat, cutting off yet another ebullient "Shido-han!"

"Shido-san," Madoka appeared in Shido's wake, "it's alright."

Shido relinquished his grip on Emishi's neck, only to drive a fist into the Bloody Joker's jaw.

Emishi sunk to the ground as Shido abandoned him for less boisterous company.

"Hi, Kazuki. Kakei." He nodded at the both of them.

"Hello, Shido. Paul said that Ginji-san had fallen ill and that you had brought him here, so Juubei and I came to see how he was doing."

"Ah. What's _he_ doing here?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Emishi, who bolted upright. Big crocodile tears streamed down the Joker's face.

"I missed you, Shido-han," Emishi answered, sniffling in mock petulance. "I just _had_ to come and see you."

"Yeah, well, you damn near scared Ginji to death, coming in here bawling like an idiot."

"You said that Paul-san told you Ginji was here… did you run into one another at the Honky Tonk?" Madoka asked. Her sweet voice fell softly on Kazuki's ears, having spent the last half hour in the company of the Joker.

"Yes, we did, Madoka-san. It seems that all roads lead there eventually." He smiled at her, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see his expression.

She must have heard the smile in his voice, because she also smiled. "Even though he's very tired, I know Ginji-san will be glad to see all of you."

Juubei shifted slightly, and Kazuki, recognizing the start for what it was, knew that his own surprise mirrored his companion's. It was amazing how the young woman said so much while being so courteous. Emishi probably hadn't picked up on it, but to Kazuki, her single sentence had spoken volumes – everything from 'I'm worried' to 'Please be quiet and let him rest,' to 'Welcome.'

Ginji had that ability, too, to say a very great deal with few words.

"Shido-san? Since everyone is here already, we should ask them to stay for dinner, don't you agree?"

"If you like," Shido replied, curiously deferential. "That reminds me. Rena and Natsumi wanted to see Ginji tonight, also, so I asked them to stay for dinner."

Madoka clapped her hands together. "We'll have a lot of company then. I'm so glad." She blushed prettily, and added in a quiet voice, "Not that I mind eating alone with you, Shido-san."

Kazuki hid a smile behind long fingers as Shido flushed and hovered over the girl who had tamed the beast.

"Would you mind taking them back to see Ginji-san? I'll let the staff know we're expecting guests."

Shido grunted an acknowledgement, and with a parting smile, Madoka made her way slowly but confidently toward the door.

"Come on."

Shido led them into an opulently furnished parlor and through a door on the far side, and then he left, presumably to rejoin Madoka.

"His breathing is regular and slow," Juubei noted, his thrilling bass resonating pleasantly through the big room. Kazuki, though he enjoyed Juubei's lovely voice, flinched as Ginji stirred in response to it. "He's sleeping."

"I was," Ginji agreed, opening brown eyes that were gummy with sickness and fatigue.

"We're sorry, Ginji-san," Kazuki apologized quickly, his heart sinking. The former Emperor looked terrible. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"We brought a fruit basket." Juubei's abrupt statement was accompanied by the stiff presentation of said gift. Kazuki stifled a smile at Juubei's expense and went to sit in a chair by the bed.

Ginji managed a weak smile. "Thanks, guys." He brought the sheets up to his nose and coughed into them. "Sorry."

"That's alright, Ginji-san." Kazuki smoothed lank blond hair from the Get Backer's face. "You look like you feel awful."

"You mean I look awful," Ginji joked. He almost laughed, but wound up coughing under the sheets again.

"Ha ha, that's it. Laughter is the best medicine, I always say." Emishi's raucous guffawing jangled Kazuki's nerves. "Hey, have you heard the one about the lawyer's daughter?"

"Emishi." Juubei put down the fruit basket and turned to the Joker.

"Yes, Kakei-han?"

Juubei's fist flew out of nowhere to land on the swollen lump that marked Shido's handiwork. "Be quiet."

Juubei retrieved the fruit basket and handed it to Kazuki, who reached in and withdrew an orange. "Would you like anything, Ginji-san? Are you hungry?"

Ginji rubbed at his eyes and winced. "My head hurts," he murmured, half to himself. Then he looked at Kazuki. "Actually, I can't decide if I'm more hungry or more tired."

"Well, why don't you eat a little, and then we'll leave you alone and let you rest. Is that alright?"

Ginji rubbed his eyes again. "Sure, Kazu-chan."

Kazuki's heart melted a little; unlike 'Ban-chan,' Ginji only called his former King 'Kazu-chan' when he was very, very happy, or very, very discontent. "I'm sorry you don't feel well, Ginji-san."

As Kazuki peeled the orange, deftly shucking the rind from the meat, Juubei approached the bed.

"Ginji-san. Are you nauseous?" Juubei's big hands reached down and found Ginji's, and finding them, further sought the Get Backer's pulse.

"I wasn't. Until I fell out of the bed."

Kazuki chuckled. "How did you manage that?"

"Emishi scared me, and when I jumped, I fell on the floor," Ginji admitted, candid as ever.

The Joker had just managed to get to his feet when a koto string wound round his ankles.

* * *

"Takanowa-san," Ban said courteously into the cell, "I have something I need to discuss with you."

"Can't you tell me about it on the phone?" Takanowa sounded annoyed, damn him.

Well, that made two of them.

"It would be better if we could meet face-to-face. Safer."

"I suppose, if you insist," Takanowa conceded reluctantly.

"I insist."

The older man huffed in aggravation. "Fine, then. Meet me at that café in Shinjuku where we met before. Two hours from now."

Bait taken. And now, the coup de grace.

"Takanowa-san…"

"What is it now?" Ban could just see the sharply dressed businessman scowling into his Blackberry.

He grinned wickedly, enjoying himself for the first time that day. "If you are at your hotel, I would advise you to leave. Immediately."

"What are you talking about?"

"Trust me," Ban answered, making his tone grim. "In about fifteen minutes, that hotel room is the last place on earth you'll want to be."

A very nervous pause preceded Takanowa's, "Ah."

"I'll see you at five thirty, Takanowa-san."

The phone clicked, and Ban smacked a triumphant fist into his palm. Time for phase two.

Standing outside Takanowa's hotel in a smoking shelter, waiting for Takanowa to emerge, Ban grimaced at his reflection in the grimy glass. Not only had he been tricked – briefly, but undeniably – by the cunning little sneak, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse. By the time Ban had made his way to the hotel, he was drenched through for the second time that day. And to ice his rotten cake, Paul had called to tell him that the Monkey Trainer had taken his sick partner to Madoka's to rest.

Ban slammed an angry fist into the steel post of the shelter. "Bastard," he muttered. As if he needed the bastard's twice-damned charity. As if he wasn't good enough to look after his own partner. As if…

His scowl deepened as his thoughts turned pensive.

Ban was intelligent enough to know that Fuyuki's whisking his partner away didn't necessarily have anything to do with him. Ginji just had a way of drawing people to him, an irresistibile charisma. He himself was driven by a need to help people, to protect people, and whenever he found himself in need of help or protection, the overwhelming force of his personality seemed to burble out and infect everyone around him with the need to reciprocate his compassion. Even Ban wasn't immune.

Which was why he was having a conniption fit in the rain and beating up poor defenseless smoking shelters.

Gah. Ban punched the steel post again.

It _was_ Monkey Trainer. It was _possible_ that there had been an element of insult in Fuyuki's decision, a "Why aren't you taking care of him, Snake Bastard?" As much as he hated to admit it, though, Ban rather doubted that the slight toward himself had been intentional. If it had been the other way around, he would have been too concerned with Ginji to worry about snubbing Shido.

Probably.

Maybe.

At any rate, it was a good thing he hadn't been at the Honky Tonk when the stupid SOB had abducted his partner. With some time on his hands to consider, he decided he didn't really have to break the former King's neck.

He'd just punch his lights out. As soon as he'd dealt with Takanowa.

His employer was a lying sonovabitch, and Ban was going to make him pay for toying with the Get Backers.

* * *

Ginji winced as Emishi crashed into the floor face first. "Are you okay, Emishi?" His voice felt scratchy, like a bug crawling up his throat, so he was glad when Kazuki handed him an orange slice, and he had an excuse to not talk anymore.

"I'm fine, Ginji-han," Emishi said faintly.

"He's been a little clumsy today," Kazuki said smoothly.

Emishi opened his mouth, but Juubei turned to look at him, and the Joker's mouth snapped shut so quickly that Ginji could hear his teeth rattle, even through the fluid in his ears. Ginji stared at Emishi and Juubei, bemused. He was missing something, he knew he was missing something, but he didn't know what it was.

He swallowed the bit of orange, and Kazuki handed him another piece.

"Kazuki."

"Yes?" The Thread-Master separated another segment of fruit without looking at it. Kazuki, Ginji decided, was really amazing. He hadn't squirted any of the juice, and he hadn't dropped any of the rind, and he had managed to separate the fine skins of the segments without tearing them at all.

"Sweet foods aren't really the best for someone who feels nauseous."

"Oops. I think I knew that," Kazuki said, looking a little abashed. "I'm sorry, Ginji-san. I'll put this in the refrigerator, for when you feel better."

"But it tastes so good," Ginji protested, a little disappointed. But even as he spoke, his stomach began to churn harder, and he frowned disconsolately.

"We're staying with Madoka-san and Shido for dinner," Kazuki told him. The Thread-Master smiled. "Think you can wait until then? I'll bring you something better."

Ginji nodded, flinching a little as the movement caused his temples began to beat out a painful little duet. Kazuki stood up.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?"

He chewed the inside of a lip thoughtfully, careful not to move his head again. "Can I borrow your phone, Kazu-chan?"

Kazuki looked to Juubei, who produced a cell phone from his pocket.

"Thanks. I just want to make sure Ban-chan is okay."

Kazuki nodded, and without another word went to the door. Emishi glanced at Juubei, and then whispered loudly, "Feel better, Ginji-han!"

Ginji forced an answering smile to his face, and then Juubei ushered the Joker out.

Scrolling through Kazuki's contact list, Ginji smiled. There they were. The contact in Kazuki's cell phone was labeled 'The Get Backers.' Not Ginji. Not Midou. But Get Backers. With an 's.'

"_What do you want, Thread Spool? I'm busy._"

"It's me."

"_Ginji? Geez, what is it, a Volts reunion at Madoka's?_"

"Seems like."

There was a pause. "_You sound bad._"

"My throat hurts a little."

"_Oh._ _Well, don't whine about it to me. I'll be lucky to not get sick myself, spending all day in the rain._ "

"Sorry, Ban-chan."

"_Gah. Don't apologize for stupid things like that. People'll think you don't really mean it, if you say it too often._"

Ginji frowned into the phone. "I do mean it, though."

Another pause. "_Yeah, I know. Dummy._"

"Ban-chan, are you okay? How's the case going?"

"_I'm _wet_,_" he said moodily, "_And I'll tell you about the case later. May be easier than I expected, actually. Just… so far, so good, okay?_"

"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Ginji promised.

"_Don't. Just get some sleep. If you're snuggled into one of Madoka's big warm beds, you might as well take advantage of it. Ought to be sleeping now, come to think of it. Why aren't you?_"

"I fell asleep at the Honky Tonk, and I guess Shido must have brought me here, because I woke up when Emishi got here and started yelling for Shido, and then Kazuki and Juubei gave me a fruit basket and Kazuki peeled an orange for me, and – "

"_Are you nauseous?_"

"A little."

"_Shit. Some doctor that Kakei is – sweet food is the last thing you need._"

"He knows; he stopped Kazu-chan." Ginji sighed. "That orange was really, really good, too."

"_It wouldn't be as sweet the second time around._"

"Nope. Anyway, Ban-chan, be careful, okay? You always say powerful men and money are a dangerous combination."

"_Feh. I can take care of myself, so don't worry about that. Just tell those lamebrain friends of yours to leave you alone and let you sleep._"

"They're not lamebrains."

"_Whatever. Just rest up – I'm going to need help spending all this money._"

"Hey, Ban-chan?"

"_Yeah?_"

"You'll call me if you need me, right?"

"_Like that'll happen. Besides, you don't sound like you light a forty watt bulb right now._"

"Ban-chan. Please."

"_Dummy._" Ginji smiled. Ban's voice was rarely warm; usually, the self-styled cynic's voice dripped with sarcasm, or resentment, or irritation. But every now and again, even the Invincible Midou Ban-sama could get a little sentimental, and his voice always showed it. "_I'll call if I need you. Go to sleep, dumbass._"

* * *

Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I know I'm a horribly slow updater, so if you're reading The Ties That Bind or Stephanotis or Star-Crossed, I do apologize for the long waits. Rainy Days and Mondays has been a little writer's block clearer for me, and I really appreciate the support. Please forgive me if I mispell anyone's name.

Shkira: I'm so glad you liked Ginji in Ban's sunglasses -- I'm even happier that you left me a note to tell me so. I love Get Backers friendship fluff, reading it, writing it. Thank you so much for reviewing!

Nananah, Narakunohime: You guys are awesome. You always drop a line, just to say you read it, just to let the authors know that you're enjoying their work. It's a sweet person to review most every chapter, and I just wanted to say that you both rock my world.

Rabid Lola: Always some useful piece of criticism or advice -- you know I love it. Thanks for dropping in.

SpuriousBlade, desdemona, Suguichan, kim carol: I'm thrilled to oblige your Ginji sick-fic cravings. Blade, Gang Aft Agley was my first favorited GB fic. :) Surprise, surprise. And desdemona, I'm glad you liked Sick Day. I had a lot a lot a lot of fun making Ban sick, so I'm happy that other people enjoy his misery. Thanks for reading!

CrazyCatLadyVia, Little Kunai: Thanks for your encouragement. Getting reviews in my inbox never fails to brighten my day. I promise, I'll try really hard not to make you wait too long between chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

Ban leaned back in the bucket seat, crossed his arms behind his head, and propped his feet up on the Ladybug's steering wheel. A self-satisfied smirk sat comfortably on his mouth, warmed by the glowing embers of a cigarette gripped loosely in his teeth.

Too easy. It was just too easy. Shame he had to split the fee with Himiko, but the royalties on the book should more than recompense that momentary humiliation.

Takanowa, whom Ban had been watching for the past ten minutes or so, ducked into a Mizuho Bank. Precisely as Ban had surmised he would, given Ban's vague but unmistakable warning of a half-hour before.

Takanowa had, for whatever reason, lied about not being in possession of his manuscript. Beginning with that premise, Ban had followed several interesting lines of thought, and had ended up here.

He toyed with Himiko's device, fingering the pin carefully. Ban's sense of irony was finely tuned; the smoke bomb would simulate the fire Takanowa had set in his home, and just as Takanowa had "lost" a fake manuscript in a real fire, Ban would "recover" the actual manuscript from a false fire. Of course, he had no intention of returning the book to Takanowa.

Ban dropped his feet to the floorboards and pushed open his door before strolling casually toward the bank. An old hoodie covered his face; the smoke bomb was stuffed into one of the pockets.

Obviously, Takanowa was in cahoots with one of the executives denounced in his book. Perhaps one of the criminals had discovered the author's intentions, perhaps Takanowa had decided that blackmail paid better than the publishing company – however it had happened, Ban was certain of his reasoning. Takanowa was alive and had been fairly certain of continuing in that happy state, until Ban jerked the rug out from under him at the hotel.

Ban's warning had ruffled his feathers, and Takanowa's discomfiture had deepened Ban's conviction that he had the right of the situation. The bastard might not have been expecting danger, but he hadn't been surprised, either. He definitely wasn't on the level.

Ah. There he was, the asshole. One hand hovered protectively over a pocket while the nervous writer chewed on his lower lip.

Ban smothered a grin. There were times that his experiences as a Plunderer came in handy. Today would be one of them.

One of the bank officials led Takanowa to an office; Ban sidled up to the glass-walled room with its closed blinds as they disappeared inside. He was dangerously close to his prey, but there was an art to being inconspicuous, and though Ban seldom practiced it, it was an art he had long since mastered.

Besides, the vent he wanted sat just to the left of the office door, and he needed a few seconds at least to loosen the bottom screws.

He swiped a couple of brochures to thumb through; luckily for him, it was a busy day at the bank, so no one observed him looked too closely, especially after he pushed back his hood. Holding his 'reading material' in one hand, he worked the screws behind him with his other.

A tall, lean redhead swept into the bank, moving with an aggressive, predatory stride that seemed peculiarly unfeminine. She looked like a video game heroine – or a dominatrix, depending on one's perspective – complete with leather cat suit, sleeveless trench, and tall black boots. Long sleeves with integrated gloves encased her arms, but beneath the leather Ban could see the tell-tale ripple of carefully conditioned muscle. Her legs were more attention-grabbing; he suit's bottom half consisted of very short shorts that left most of her toned, shapely thighs exposed.

All of which was very distracting. But mostly Ban was interested in the three neat stacks of rubber-banded bills that protruded from one of the trench's pockets.

With a supreme effort, Ban managed to keep his jaw from dropping. The girl's violet eyes fell on him, and she raked an electric gaze over him, threatening his careful aloofness. He repressed a shudder; there was an overt sort of judging in her stare, an unselfconscious consideration. She liked what she saw, which was flattering, but her penetrating, appraising stare made him feel strangely naked. He shook his head once at her, sighing with relief when she shrugged and turned her back on him.

There. There it was, the satisfying snap of a safety deposit box lock. And just in time; Ban had just unfastened the last screw.

Careful not to let his exultation show, Ban turned away from the door just as Takanowa emerged. The would-be author walked right past him, without acknowledging his presence, much less recognizing him.

Ban pulled the pin and deftly, lightly chucked the makeshift grenade into the air duct.

Takanowa was halfway out the door before the first howl of "Fire!" rang into the deepening twilight.

Ban ducked into the office his prey had just vacated.

Jackpot. The box was still sitting on the desk, abandoned by the terrified bank official.

Grinning in triumph, he reached for the lockbox.

And then someone cracked something really, really heavy over the top of his head, and he felt just enough of it to know that he'd been had.

"Poor Gin-chan." Natsumi rested her chin in her hands, slumped down in Paul's backseat. "He really looked bad. I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine, Natsumi-chan." Paul's dark glasses glinted in the rearview mirror

"Yup! Ginji-san's a lot tougher than most people give him credit for," Rena agreed. She made a kissy face at the visor mirror, checking her gloss. "Besides, Madoka-san's a good person. She'll take care of him."

"I know. And it's probably just a cold." Shaking her head, as if to shake off the gloom, she attempted a smile. "Thanks for driving us, Master. We really appreciate it."

Paul turned on his blinker and left the highway. "It's not that far out of my way. I was meeting someone out that direction, anyhow."

Rena smiled archly. "A date, Master?"

He returned the smile, but didn't reply.

"You know, I don't think I know anything about you outside of work," Natsumi said suddenly. "Girlfriends? Hobbies? I don't even know where you live."

"I've just decided he's one of those perverted old guys that pays girls like Riko-chan to go out with him. Nice, orthodox restaurant owner by day. Dirty old man by night." Rena poked him in the arm. "He's just smart enough to know we'd turn him down."

Paul flushed hotly. "That – is – that's absolutely not true," he protested. "And I'm not that old!"

"Prove us wrong," Rena challenged. "Share a personal detail. It won't kill you. Promise."

"Natsumi," he pleaded.

A smile pushed through the worry on Natsumi's face. "Sorry, Master. I'm with Rena on this one. If you don't have anything to hide, then why hide anything at all?"

"Not everyone thinks it's necessary to share every facet of their life with everyone else," he pointed out reasonably.

"Right," Natsumi agreed. "The ones that end up dirty old men."

He sighed. "I'm meeting someone for drinks, alright? Now quit."

"What high school does she go to?" Rena's eyebrows went up, and a wicked grin quivered on her mouth.

"She's an American woman who teaches English at the University of Tokyo," he conceded finally. "Her maternal grandmother was Japanese. She always wanted to see her grandmother's country, so I've been showing her around."

"Aw." Rena rubbed Paul's upper arm, smiling sweetly. "See, that wasn't so hard, Master."

Natsumi tapped her boss on the shoulder. "What's her name?"

"Alexis."

"I'd like to meet her. You should bring her to the Honky Tonk."

"With those two around? Are you crazy?"

Natsumi giggled. "Gin-chan's not so bad, but you're right. Anyone with half a brain would run scared from Ban-kun."

"Did you know he put that crack in the window, Master? The one next to the door?" Rena asked.

"I figured. It's already been added onto their tab."

Ten minutes later, Paul pulled into Madoka's driveway. Rena moved to get out; he shook his head and motioned for her to stay put. He stepped out of the surprisingly nice sedan and opened the door for Natsumi, who had been sitting behind him. Then he walked around and did the same for Rena.

"That's sweet, Master. There aren't many gentlemen left in the world." She grinned. "I'm glad to know one. Thanks for the ride."

"Just for the record," he said wryly, "I am definitely not coming on to you."

She laughed. "I was kidding. You're too cool to do that kind of thing."

"That's right," Natsumi chimed in. "Master's the greatest."

"Maybe I will let you guys meet Alexis, sometime. She'd probably like you." He pulled a face. "She'd probably even like those two dopes."

"Then she sounds like a really great person."

Paul shrugged. "_I_ like her."

"Drive safely, Master!" The girls waved as Paul pulled his door to and drove off.

They hurried up the drive and onto the veranda, where Madoka stood waiting.

"Hello, Rena-chan, Natsumi-chan. I'm glad you're here." Mozart wagged his greeting alongside his mistress, his tail thumping eagerly on the porch. "Was that Paul-san?"

"Yes – he gave us a ride. And he's picking us up."

"I wish I'd gotten the chance to ask him to stay," Madoka fretted. "Everyone else is here. Except Ban-kun, of course."

"He had plans anyway, so there's nothing to worry about," Rena assured her.

"A date?"

"Yeah, would you believe it?"

The girls giggled as they went inside.

"Gin-chan hasn't had much of a chance to sleep, so now that he's finally dozed off, we decided not to wake him for dinner," Madoka said apologetically. "After we've all eaten, we'll take him something. But for now I think it's best for him to rest."

Natsumi looked at the floor, disappointed. Rena nudged her. "You can play nurse later, Natsu-chan," she whispered. "Just enjoy the company, okay?"

Natsumi forced herself to smile and nod. He really had looked miserable, she thought unhappily. And she had wanted to be the one to make him feel better. It seemed like she wasn't going to get the opportunity, though, not with all of his old friends around.

"But they all care about him, too," she murmured to herself, following Rena and Madoka to the formal dining room.

Up ahead, though Natsumi couldn't know it, Madoka suppressed a smile. "Natsumi-chan?"

Natsumi looked up. "What is it, Madoka-chan?"

"Dinner won't be ready for a little while, yet. Why don't you go sit with him? Even if he's not awake, I'm sure he'll know that you are near."

A warm glow filled Natsumi's belly. Ginji looked so sweet when he was asleep, just like an angel that was dreaming.

Rena laughed, and she flushed. "Am I that obvious?" she asked Rena lowly, embarrassed.

"You have no idea," Rena replied, making no effort whatsoever to lower her voice. "It's a good thing, though. If you were a more subtle person, Ginji-kun would never catch on. He's really good at a lot of things, but he just can't take a hint."

"Rena-chan!" Natsumi squealed, looking at Madoka in horror. She could have guessed that Rena knew about her embarrassing crush, but Rena was a peer, and Madoka – well, she was just seventeen, but she seemed more like a grown-up, and besides, Natsumi was pretty sure that she and Shido had already – well – done that – and besides, Madoka would be sure to tell Shido anything she heard, and Shido would tell Ginji, and…!

"It's fine, isn't it, Natsumi-chan?" Madoka smiled gently, her quiet voice breaking into Natsumi's panic. "You knew my feelings for Shido a long time ago, and I have always sensed a connection between you and Ginji-kun. I am glad that there is someone I can talk to who can understand a secret affection."

Or in other words, Natsumi thought with relief, 'I don't think you're silly, and I won't tell Shido.' "Thank you, Madoka-chan."

"If you go down this hall, and take your third left, you'll come into a drawing room with a piano. There's a door next to the fireplace. That's where Ginji-kun is." She turned to Rena, though how she knew where the other girl was standing was beyond Natsumi. "Rena-chan, please be patient with us tonight. Emishi-san is… well…"

"Irritating everybody? I'll take care of it," she said confidently. "I like watching him squirm when he can't even make me crack a smile."

As Natsumi turned into the hallway, Madoka was trying very hard, but without much success, not to laugh.

Natsumi found the drawing room with no trouble. The opulent furnishings seemed vaguely intimidating, and the spit-spot shine of the darkening room belied its disuse. Though filled with grandiosities, the room felt somehow devoid of life. She stood outside the bedroom door for several minutes, nibbling nervously on the end of a finger.

A hoarse, wet cough startled her, and in her surprise, she bit down hard on the finger in her mouth. The acrid taste of blood tingled on her tongue.

She swallowed the blood in her mouth and reached for the door.

Another cough met her as she stepped into Ginji's makeshift sickroom. "Natsumi-can?"

Ginji sniffled loudly.

"Gin-chan! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Wasn't asleep, so it's fine." He tried to sit up, but she hurried to the bedside and pushed him back with a light, firm hand.

"You shouldn't be moving around so much," she chided. Her hand lingered on his too-warm skin. "You need to rest. Ban-san told you to rest."

"I think… I think Ban-chan may be in trouble," he said, covering her hand in his. His hands were clammy, but the touch sent a shiver of pleasure up Natsumi's arm nonetheless. He curled his fingers around hers and removed it from his shoulder. "He won't answer his cell phone."

"Maybe it just isn't a good time for him to talk, Gin-chan," Natsumi said, hoping she sounded more composed than she felt. Ginji's hand hadn't released hers, and she could feel his pulse in his fingertips. For one, strange, exhilarating moment, it seemed like her whole body beat in time to that faint throbbing against her skin.

"Ban-san…" She had to pause and take a breath. "Ban-san can take care of himself. You should trust him."

Ginji made a move as if he would rise, but then relaxed. "I'm sure you're right, Natsumi-chan. He promised – twice – that he would call if he needed me." He smiled and closed his eyes. "And Ban-chan always keeps his promises."


	5. Chapter 5

"I hope to God you're not as much fucking trouble when you're awake. Get up." A woman's voice lashed at him like a whip, as clear and quick as a lightning strike - or a snake bite - annoyed, and not a little urgent. The sharp, metallic tang of blood wafted up into his nostrils, and before he dared open his eyes, he took an internal stock of his injuries.

Someone, probably the woman with the whip-like voice, had propped him up against a brick wall, which prickled uncomfortably through his shirt, but there was no blood there. His knee hurt - had he twisted it when he fell in the office? Still no blood, though. He scowled - there was nothing wrong with him but a pounding head and nausea. Concussion, probably. But nothing that would make that too-familiar reek.

Which meant the chick who'd insulted him was probably the one bleeding. He didn't know how he felt about that.

"Dammit, get up already, they're close." That got his attention, even more than the blood. His eyes snapped open, searching out the voice.

It was the redhead from the bank. She crouched beside him in a narrow alleyway, every muscle braced for flight. A ragged hole in the leather that covered her left shoulder seeped blood. She gripped a semiautomatic pistol, an M1911, he thought - in her right hand. In her slender fingers, the big military-issue sidearm looked bulky and clunky.

"What the hell?" Ban demanded, shifting to sit on his ankles. Like her, he was getting his feet under him, preparing to run. "Put that down - I don't do guns.

"I carried you," she said flatly, "until they shot me." He flushed, but before he could come up with a suitable wisecrack, she waved the gun under his nose. "As for this, you crashed my party, pretty boy. We're doing things my way.

A gunshot rang out, and with the preciseness of that otherworldly instinct, he snatched at the redhead and dragged her out of the bullet's trajectory.

Too late, he realized he'd grabbed her bad arm.

"Son of a bitch!" She gasped in pain, swearing more in reflex than at him, and he grabbed her again, by her uninjured shoulder this time, and hauled her up to her feet as he came to his own.

"Run," he commanded, and they tore down the alleyway. She matched him pace for pace, nimble and quick in her stiletto-heeled boots, even as a thick, ugly glob of blood slid down her upper arm. In fact, she was having an easier time of it than he was, with his pounding head and aching knee.

"Wanna tell me why there are people shooting at you, lady?"

She snorted, an indelicate sound for such a pretty girl. "Me? You're the one they came after, scarecrow. They weren't on to me until I had to rescue your skinny ass." Her voice was thready with pain. "You're welcome, by the way.

Shit. Takanowa had set him up. Again. Chagrined, he pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to give her the satisfaction of letting her know that he didn't exactly know who "they" were. Takanowa didn't have the network to set men with guns on him - whoever the greedy author had sold out to owned the firepower.

They burst out into the street, and immediately Ban reached for the girl, to pull her back, but she had already retreated into the alley and was hissing at him to do the same. He pressed himself closely to the brick as a bullet split the afternoon, setting the passersby to shrieking, fleeing the unseen gunman. Almost unseen. Ban had barely glimpsed the shiny rifle barrel pointing unobtrusively from a darkly-tinted car window.

"Damn. Yoshida's bullyboys are quick on their feet." The girl dropped to her ankles. "I really didn't think they had time to corner us."

Ban thought quickly. Yoshida was the CEO of the… shit, of the Mizuho Corporate Bank. Wow, he really had walked right into that one. He reddened, and felt an ugly growl rise in his throat as the redhead suddenly started to laugh, although the chuckle was weak with pain.

"You didn't know, did you." It was not a question. "You didn't even know who'd pocketed Takanowa." His ire faded as the hand that clenched her pistol reached to cover her bloody left arm. "You're either really ballsy, or just plain stupid, scarecrow, to walk into something like this blind."

"Mido," he snarled at her. "It's Mido."

She shook her head, flinching slightly as another bullet buried itself into the ground near her feet. This one had come from behind them. "With that hair, you could be Dorothy's scarecrow. All you need's a Phrygian cap." She flashed a wicked smile at his deepening flush, but there was a very slight trace of camaraderie in the grin. "Besides," she added off-handedly, "if you only had a brain, we might not be in this mess."

The smile twisted into a grimace, and she stood up. "I'm going to deal with the assholes behind us. Try not to get killed in the meantime."

Almost before he could blink, she was gone, leaving a gust of wind behind her that almost brought Ban to his knees. Straining, he could catch glimpses of her red hair, streaking across his vision like a comet across the sky. Fast didn't begin to describe her movement. Stray boxes and papers took flight, right out of their dumpsters.

Ban blinked. At speeds like that, she should have been able to dodge bullets a little better. A twinge of guilt nudged at his gut. Of course, she had been carrying almost a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight at the time. It hadn't even occurred to him to question her ability to do so - he'd seen the powerful musculature beneath her leather. But saving his neck had cost her, assuming she really was on the up and up herself. And he hadn't questioned that, either. His instincts about people were good, ninety-nine percent of the time.

Well. She was doing her part admirably, if the grunts and squeals of pain from that direction were any indication. He heard gunshots, but none of them sounded right for the military-issue handgun she carried. She'd shown him up already. That just couldn't stand. She hadn't exactly called him an amateur, but she'd implied it. That stung a lot worse than the comment on his woefully disarranged hair.

Ban sauntered out into the street, now much more at ease with the gun pointed at him. Facing that kind of threat was a simple thing when he was alone. It got harder when he was distracted by a partner.

A shot rang out. Ban knew exactly where the barrel was, and he'd already stepped out the way before the bullet hit the air. Another fired off, but he cocked his head to the right, and it whizzed by his ear. There was a flowing sort of energy from the gun itself, and whenever he found himself in that very slightly arched trajectory, he slipped aside like soap through wet fingers.

A second invisible-but-all-too-tangible stream of energy hit him, and he tumbled forward easily as a bullet followed the stream right over his back, only minutely distracted by the appearance of the second gunman. He would take the one in the car, first, and anyone who was with him.

His mind had assumed its natural, methodic rhythms, devoid of fear, or compassion, or doubt. At times like this, when he was alone, a question always came up behind the part of his mind that was currently keeping him alive. Why keep a partner, his brain queried rationally, when it is always so much easier like this? When everything goes exactly as predicted, when everything - absolutely everything - makes sense? Good was good and bad was bad - there was none of that grey in-between that Ginji so excelled at bringing into his life.

And his too-active brain's inquiry was answered, not with any sort of sensible reply, but by a gaping emptiness in his soul, a yawning sense of isolation. Like spasms from an amputated limb, it was a ghost of pain long since vanished.

Oh, that set-off part of his mind said, somewhat derisively. That. He could almost hear his grandmother scoffing in the background. Well, if you insist.

In moments he was across the street. The shining barrel was jerked into the car, but the glass didn't disrupt the narrow stream of malevolent energy Ban navigated. He felt the shiver in the stream, but before the gunman could fire, Ban rammed his fist through the window and reached for the weapon he still couldn't see, clenching his fingers closed around the barrel that produced the current. The man who held the gun flinched, but was too stupid to let go. Ban's snakebite crushed the steel, and he jerked the weapon and its owner out through the smashed window. Finally, the black armored man relinquished his grip, and Ban smacked him over the back of the head with the butt of the rifle.

The driver was fumbling for a handgun, but Ban was half into the car by then, diving in through the window to avoid a bullet from the other gunman, who, judging from the trajectory of the energy, had to be across the street and shooting from a second floor window.

He snatched at the pistol and crushed it even more thoroughly than the rifle, and smashed his fist - still holding the crumpled remains of what had been a very expensive Smith and Wesson - into the driver's jaw. No one was in the backseat. Presumably the other rifle-bearing gunner had ridden there.

That other stream of energy had vanished, and that made Ban very wary. He slunk into the backseat, wincing a little as his aching knee dragged across the passenger seat's armrest. Looking up through the tinted glass, he found the window from which the current had originated, and saw the silhouette of the gunman. Its hands were thrown over its face, and it was cowering against the windowpanes. As he watched it slid to the ground so that only the top of its head was visible.

A knock on the door surprised him. He drew his hand back, ready to strike if necessary. The redhead's face popped into view in the broken window.

"Well," she said dryly, pointing a long, slim finger at the blood on the jagged glass- his blood, his shredded skin reminded him with a surge of stinging, nagging pain - "I guess this disqualifies you as the Cowardly Lion. Or the Tin Man. So you're stuck with Scarecrow." She said it with some obscure satisfaction, and he felt a brief commiseration with all of the Volts he had labeled over the past year.

"What about the guy in the window?" Ban asked, eyeing the unmoving silhouette.

"Blue," she said cryptically. She pulled away, and came round the car to open the driver's door. The man Ban had knocked out slumped against her; she lowered the limp body to the ground and took his position. "The cops will be here soon. I don't really want to be here when they show up, do you?"

Ban shook his head. "What's Blue?" he demanded.

"My partner."

The adrenaline was leaving, quickly, and his head started to throb more painfully. She was being deliberately closed-mouthed. "Don't you want to wait for him?"

She pointed at the broken window.

"Shit!" Ban couldn't stop himself from jumping. A massive head had protruded into the car, a head with a long, boxy snout of a nose, curious black eyes, and pointy, cropped ears. Her partner had approached so silently that Ban had completely missed Blue's arrival.

The Great Dane sniffed at the blood on the window, then nudged at the shattered class still clinging to the doorframe. It looked inquiringly up at its - she called it a partner - and the redhead reached over to open the door.

The big grey - blue, duh - dog clambered into the car, over the central compartment, and into the backseat with Ban, snuffling at him. The skin on its snout wrinkled slightly as it growled a warning at him. Ban knew enough about the breed to know they were generally genteel, well-behaved dogs. He repeated that phrase and tried to ignore the blood on its teeth.

"Blue, down." The Great Dane stopped snarling at once, and lay down. Its long body took up most of the bench seat, but Ban wasn't going to complain. People he understood, he could predict. Which was exactly why he wasn't about to Evil Eye the damn thing and send it scurrying away with its tail between its legs. The redhead wouldn't like it, and he'd seen enough of her to know that he didn't want to make an enemy of her.

"Relax, scarecrow. He ain't gonna hurt you." She turned the key in the ignition.

"I'm sure that's what the guy up there thought," Ban replied sardonically, jerking at thumb behind him at the would-be shooter's vantage. "And it's Mido."

"He wouldn't have hurt him bad. Wouldn't have needed to. Blue tends to make even big men piss themselves." Ban's eyes darted to the window, and sure enough, the silhouette was already slipping away.

Blue couldn't sit upright in the car, but he suddenly whimpered, sniffing urgently at the air. He scrabbled over Ban, as if oblivious to him, his paws landing heavily on the Get Backer's injured knee.

"Ow!" Ban forced a few choice oaths, through gritted teeth, but one glance at the redhead explained the dog's unease. She was pale, and her blood was already soaking into the car.

That nasty twinge of guilt prickled in his gut again. "Let me drive," he told her, reaching to climb into the front. "You need to take care of that arm."

"Right now, I need to get out of here. So do you." She shifted into drive, and just as Ban's sharp ears detected the wail of sirens in the background, she maneuvered the car around the fallen gunners and into the street.

"Dammit, girl, let me drive!"

Blue growled again and the redhead set her jaw before shoving her foot to the floor, sending Ban flying backward to land ignominiously across the back windshield.

* * *

Hevn smirked behind her hand. All the little boys were stupefied by Paul's date, even Juubei and Kazuki. If she were less of a woman, if she were less secure in her own appeal, she might have been a little jealous.

She had known Paul for a quite awhile, now, and she knew him as well or better than anybody. There had been a time, longer back than she cared to think about, that she had been in the Get Backer's shoes, making it one meal to the next, and the Honky Tonk had been as critical to her survival back then as it was to theirs now. Besides which, though he didn't make a big deal about it, the man was as good an Seeker as they came, which meant he had contacts in every major industry and organization in the country. Those contacts had been vital to Hevn's personal success, and he had been only too willing to share. A rare thing, among Seekers. Most prided themselves on the spread of their informants, and she didn't know another that would have divulged their precious contacts to anyone. Especially not to a hard luck Negotiator like Hevn had been.

Yes, she owed Wan Paul a lot, and watching four much younger men pant over his knock-out girlfriend did her heart good, especially when two of them were gay and one of them happily entwined with his own remarkable sweetheart.

Natsumi and Rena seemed just a little intimidated, but they would get over that. Hevn had intimidated them too, for awhile, because although they were both pretty girls in their own right, they were still young, still uncomfortable in their own skin. Time would fix that. And Madoka, well, for obvious reasons she never troubled herself about anyone's appearance. And so, other than Hevn, she was the only one not fussed about the unexpected arrival of Paul and his hot date.

Alexis was a tiny, tiny woman, with lush curves and sparkling green eyes. Traces of her Japanese heritage could be detected in pronounced cheekbones and faintly tilted eyes, but for the most part she looked western. Her face was a perfect oval, with set with a straight, narrow nose and a small, full-lipped mouth. Short, chocolaty-colored hair swirled invitingly at her ears and at the nape of her neck, flirty and feminine. A white rose was clipped behind one ear.

It was more than her looks that had the boys dumbfounded, though. She exuded a quiet kind of joy, not Ginji's exuberant, bubbly happiness, or even Madoka's sweet in-love-for-the-first-time bliss, but something much deeper. It reminded her of Paul, actually, which was probably why Hevn had liked the woman right from the off. They both had old souls, and the absolute contentment of a complete life, one lived with no regrets. Alexis had the body and the face, and even the self-restraint, that made a woman sultry, mysterious, seductive. But she didn't have the motive to play that game, and that made her all the more attractive.

Paul took it all in stride, as he did everything. He was too much a gentleman to flaunt the woman on his arm just to tweak the noses of the little boys. "I'm sorry to barge in, Madoka-san. Alexis insisted, though."

Madoka shook her head, "No, I'm happy to have you. Will you stay for dinner?"

Alexis held a big vase of white and yellow daisies, of various breeds, before her. "No, Otowa-san, I have no wish to be the stranger who intrudes on a gathering of friends. I just wanted to offer Amano-san my wishes, such as they are."

The blind girl smiled, as if she had heard the smile in Alexis' voice. "Ginji would say that strangers are friends. We just haven't met them yet. Because he's the reason everyone is here, I think I'll follow his logic for the evening. Dinner's on the table, and we haven't started yet. Please, stay."

Alexis laughed, a deliciously dark sound that sent prickles down Hevn's neck. "I think that was actually Will Rogers' philosophy. Anyone that could live by it would be an extraordinary human being.

"He is," Paul murmured.

There was a quiet moment, while everyone silently concurred. Then, Madoka cocked an ear toward the inner part of the mansion.

"I think they're ready for us," she observed, though how she could tell was well beyond Hevn's ability to understand.

Shido blinked, shaking off his bemusement, and took Madoka's arm. They walked side-by-side into the corridor beyond the parlor, and led the others into the dining room, where a veritable feast awaited them.

Meanwhile, Ginji slept peacefully, alone in the big bedroom. Whatever danger had threatened Ban had vanished, and had not even been significant enough to merit a phone call. A maid slipped in on silent feet to deposit Alexis' daisies next to Kazuki and Juubei's fruit basket, and then slipped out again, closing the door behind her with soft hands. Ginji slept on, dreaming of nothing in particular and everything at once, the hazy not-dreams of fevered slumber.


	6. Chapter 6

Ban cursed. "You're insane," he spat, holding onto the back of the passenger seat. His knuckles were white with anger, and he had already destroyed the right side of the bucket seat in his grip. "You're insane, and you're going to get us both killed."

She didn't answer him, but instead swerved around a corner, running a stoplight and narrowly avoiding a blue Beemer. Ban's shoulder drove into the window, and he nearly smacked his head against the doorframe.

It was one thing when he was driving. Slipping between big rigs, running fifty miles over the speed limit, riding on two wheels around sharp corners, that was all in a day's work for Ban. But to be in the backseat while the chick drove, her lavender eyes bleary with blood loss - it was terrifying. And there was precious little that terrified Mido Ban.

Of course, he couldn't fault her style, the reasonable part of his brain thought admiringly. She was almost as good as he was behind a wheel. The cop that had come up behind them couldn't possibly keep up with her. And he had finally figured out where she was going, although she had turned him around by taking one-way streets the wrong way and making split-second U-turns in the middle of busy intersections. She was taking him back to the bank, to the Ladybug.

"I don't think you've got anything to complain about, dipshit. You got me shot, if you remember." She jerked the car to the right, driving on the curb for several seconds.

"You didn't have to help me," he fired back. The accusation stung. "You could have walked away."

"You wouldn't have," she answered matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't have left me in that office. You pulled me away from bullets, twice, without even thinking that you were putting yourself in the line of fire to do it."

He blinked - actually, she was right, that hadn't occurred to him at the time. He scowled, suddenly out of ammunition.

"You could have killed those guys," she continued, in that same blunt, emotionless tone. "I was watching, you know. Nice grip, by the way. You didn't. And you aren't afraid of those cops anymore than I am. Just too impatient to deal with them." She sighed as she swung wildly into the parking space next to the Ladybug. "Just like someone else I used to know."

He couldn't come up with a decent response to that, either, not knowing who the someone else in question might be. He glowered at the back of her head instead.

"Let it go, scarecrow." There was a very slight conciliatory note in her voice as she swiveled round to face him. "So you're not the only noble-minded menace in town. Get over yourself."

Ban relinquished his hold on the seat in front of him and sank back. The adrenaline rush that had fueled him after being brained in the bank had subsided; he felt exhausted. There was too much going on that he didn't understand, and he didn't like it one bit.

He put the tips of his fingers to his temples. The headache was getting worse. "What the hell are you, lady?" He couldn't make the words even remotely threatening. Even to his own ears, he sounded tired and beaten.

"I'm a damned fine Retriever, that's what." A shiny silver thumb drive caught his eye as she flipped it coin-like into the air over the central console.

Ban swore perfunctorily. "Now just who the hell hired you?"

"The home insurance company Takanowa wanted to collect from." She turned away from him laid her head back on the headrest. "There were irregularities about the fire that destroyed his home. They figured he set it himself and wanted proof. I got it. You?"

Ban closed his eyes, frustrated nearly to the point of tears. "I wondered how nobody picked up one the fact that the smoke alarms went off. Insurance. Damn, that's good. I should have thought of that." He ran a hand through his straw-like hair and grimaced. "Takanowa hired me first. Wanted to make the thing look convincing, I guess. Once I figured him out, I contacted the publisher. Promised me the royalties on the book if Takanowa was convicted, on top of my fee."

The difference in his tone must have struck a cord with the Great Dane. The dog had been hunkered down in the floorboards behind the redhead's seat, sitting tight for the crazy ride. It's apparent lack of fear indicated that the driving style was familiar to him, even if the guy sitting beside him was not. It nudged his hand with a sympathetic wet nose. Almost reluctantly, he stroked the big blue head.

He could have taken the drive. But whatever her motives may had been, she had risked her neck for him. And she was right. She was a damned fine Retriever, and he was too good a Retriever himself to steal someone else's fairly scored target.

Unless it was Fuyuki's, of course.

"Guess this means the end of the 100% success rate of the Get Backers." He dropped his head back against the seat, imitating her. He dreaded the drive to Madoka's. Dreaded having to tell his partner he'd failed.

"Get Backers." The redhead's voice was very quiet, now, but she laid a slight stress on the "s."

"Partner's out sick," Ban explained with a snort. "He's got this impeccable sense of timing."

"Hard times?" Something in the way she said it made Ban think she'd seen her share of hungry days.

"Seen better," he agreed, not to put too fine a point on it.

"Well, scarecrow, looks like today's your lucky day. I'm actually parked over there." She raised a weary hand.

Ban's jaw dropped. The redhead was pointing at a 1966 Jaguar XKE convertible, a car Enzo Ferrari had once described as the most beautiful car ever made. Custom paint job, and shining like it had just come off the lot. Given his experience in the backseat of Yoshida's henchmens' car, she likely had something equally spectacular under the hood.

"Scarecrow. Focus." He clamped his mouth shut. The redhead - what the hell was her name, anyway? - sounded tired, and her breath came and went too quickly. Ban fixed a sharp gaze on her.

She'd lost more blood than he'd realized. "Listen, Get Backer. My laptop's in the trunk. Along with a brand new four gig jump drive."

It didn't take but a second for that to sink in. The wonders of the digital age, the rational part of his brain approved, while the other, visceral part crowed with joy. Two employers, two jobs, and one target that could be only too easily copied and saved onto a second piece of hardware. Ban cursed himself for an idiot for not thinking of it himself, but he couldn't stay angry. Girl was a fucking good luck charm.

In the mirror, he could see the pallor of her face. "Hope you don't mind digging out a bullet out for me first. The reciprocity of back scratching, you know." She tried to smile, then, but the pain had become too severe. She swallowed hard.

"I'll trust you to get it," she said, resting her right hand on the center compartment, loosely holding the jump drive containing Takanowa's book and research notes. The keys to the classic beauty four spaces down were also in her palm. "First aid kit's in the glove box. Warning you, though. Scratch my baby, and I'll scratch your eyes out. And then I'll set Blue on you." Her voice, so sharp and precise before, had grown sluggish.

"I would sooner die that scratch that car," Ban muttered, and he was only half-joking.

He got out, leaving the door open for the dog. Across the way, the Jag beckoned. A brilliantly rendered rose bloom stretched over most of the massive hood, its scarlet, stylized petals a striking contrast to the black metallic paint that covered the rest of the beautiful roadster. He got out the laptop bag first. When he unlocked the passenger-side door, he did so meticulously, careful not the scratch the paint around the lock. She hadn't been joking about the car. The Jag was lovingly maintained; she obviously cared about it. And not with a car lover's fanaticism, either. The car was somehow personal.

Ban snorted with laughter when the door swung open. The two-seat interior was newly upholstered in red leather. Beautiful. But a homey quilt had been spread over the whole of the passenger seat, and it was covered with blue fur. There was something peculiarly touching about it, a concession to something she - he really needed to get her name - needed in her life.

He grabbed the kit, locked and closed the door, and went back to the redhead. Her brilliant purple eyes were closed, her breath too quick. He hadn't realized it before, under the leather and the attitude and the blazing stare, but unconscious, he could see that wasn't any older than Himiko. Maybe not that old.

Ban would have much preferred to have taken her to a hospital. Extracting a bullet hurt, badly, and he'd have given a good portion of his fee to have a doctor cut her open. But that wasn't the deal. And professionals honored their deals.

He was capable enough. The bullet had lodged in the meaty part of her upper arm. Unless it had buried itself into the bone, digging it out shouldn't be difficult. Anatomy was a simple enough thing, and his hands were steadier than most surgeons'.

A copy of the book and research notes for an extemporaneous surgery. What had she called it? The reciprocity of back scratching.

Ban was getting the better end of the deal, but at least she was unconscious. That was something, another unusual bit of luck.

He slipped the girl out of her trench coat and unzipped the cat suit, surprised at his relative lack of interest in what lay beneath. He even felt a little guilty as he pushed the leather aside, his usual voyeuristic inclinations vanished.

The opened suit exposed a blue cotton bra with cherries on it, the sort of thing a preteen girl might wear, but it wasn't the first thing that caught Ban's eyes. Sliding a hand behind her back, he gently pulled her left arm out of its sleeve. Then he looked at Blue.

The dog was in the passenger seat, now, watching him. "You do this?" Ban nodded at the girl's shoulder. Above the gunshot wound, there was a ring of old scars, puncture wounds, that encircled a good bit of her left shoulder. A bite-mark.

The dog didn't answer.

There were other scars. One of them he recognized as a feeding tube insertion incision. Another, on the inside of her forearm, had been made by a IV needle - one that had been stuck in her for a long, long time. The other, regular, surgical marks, perfectly circular scars that lined up along her spine, at each vertebra - Ban didn't even want to think about what had made them.

He cleaned the blood from the wound with a sterile pad, and tried to focus on the girlish bra instead. He had a feeling she'd rather have her underwear exposed than her past, and that was a desire he understood only too well.

She was small up top, but he noted the fact with a clinical sort of detachment. It was the bra which interested him. Like the quilt in the Jag, the cherry spattered bra hinted at something very soft and young and vulnerable underneath all the leather, and he found that quality oddly appealing. It wasn't attractive, exactly, but he was drawn to it, like he was drawn to Ginji's unabashed enthusiasm for life and for people. A beautiful thing he couldn't really participate in, but which he could appreciate more fully than someone less jaded. And which he could protect more thoroughly than someone less skilled.

Extracting the bullet took awhile, and before the end of it, even Ban's hands were trembling; he shook with nausea. Throughout the ordeal, the big blue Dane watched the Ban with his black eyes, whining pitiably now and then, but otherwise he stayed out of the Get Backer's way. As he bandaged the neatly stitched wound, Ban glanced at the big dog, briefly wondering what it would feel like to watch someone else cutting and sticking needles into his partner, and decided with a shiver that Blue had better restraint than he did.

Continuing the unfamiliar streak of good luck, the redhead came to briefly, well after he'd bandaged her up and put her back in her clothes. Just as he finished copying the manuscript onto her thumb drive (he'd half expected Takanowa's drive to be blank, or to be wiped clean in some fluke cyber-accident), she stirred, mumbling.

He'd cleared the glass from the passenger seat, and sat beside her. "You say something?"

She chuckled raggedly. "Couldn't just take the money and run, could you."

"I had Blue to consider," he reminded her.

"Blue…" The dog, relegated to the backseat once again, stirred at his name, sat up to nuzzle at her cheek, then lay back down.

"Unoriginal kind of name, isn't it?" Ban observed critically. "Not what I would expect from someone who dresses like a dominatrix and drives a classic Jag."

"I didn't name him," she said, closing her eyes again. "His previous owner used him in dogfights. Just referred to him as 'the blue.' It's all he knows to answer to." There was an ugly twist to her mouth.

Ban felt an equally nasty grimace on his own lips. "I guess that explains the cropped ears."

"I did that. There wasn't much left of them when Blue and I found one another." Her voice was faint. She needed rest. Hell, she needed a doctor. Kid like that, relying on a stranger's grudging professionalism - it make him a little sick. Of course, between the mild concussion he suspected he had and the bloody impromptu surgery, he was fortunate not to have tossed his cookies already.

"I'll take you back to your place."

She shook her head wearily. "Buddy, there ain't no way you're getting behind the wheel of my car."

"Assuming you can drive, I'll tag along and catch a cab back here." Didn't really matter whether she agreed or not. She was struggling already to keep her eyes open.

"Won't work. Gotta get rid of this car." She was fading fast, pain and blood loss dragging her back into a necessary sleep.

"I'll take care of it, kid."

She tried to answer, but her head lolled to one side, and she was asleep. Or unconscious. As much blood as she'd lost, it amounted to the same thing.

A quick phone call proved that his luck really had turned around. He and Ginji had done a job for their sometimes mechanic not two weeks before, and on hearing the story, Hojo was only too happy to help him out by 'disposing' of the car. Ban had suspected that the old mechanic had a nice little sideline chop shop; evidently he'd had good reason to. Since the car was an expensive model, Hojo even agreed to tow it himself, which left Ban free to take the redhead home.

He found her address - and her name! - on her license. Wakakisa Hana lived in Chuo, to the southeast. Where Takanowa's home had been - which was probably how she got into the whole mess. Maybe half an hour, forty minutes away, if the traffic was okay. He apologized silently for what he was about to do, then he scooped the redhead - Hana-chan - into his arms, whistled to the dog, and went to the Jag, just as the sun was setting over Shinjuku.

* * *

Ginji felt Ban arrive several minutes before he heard the scrabbling at the window. He still felt awful, but he couldn't help smiling. Ban must have seen all the cars still parked outside, heard the laughter from the parlor, and decided that he didn't want any part of it. Ginji unlatched the window, and his partner hauled himself inside.

"It's ten o'clock." He complained. "Why are they all still here?"

"Night's young, bro." Ginji said with a smile. "I think everybody's forgotten about me."

"Not for you, it's not." Ban ran a hand through his stringy, sticky hair. "Night. Young, I mean."

Ginji tried to laugh, but ended up coughing instead. "Ban-chan, your hair looks -"

"Not another word," Ban warned, "or I will personally add a broken nose to your other troubles." He sat on his heels and blinked blearily upward. "There a shower anywhere close?"

"Yeah." Ginji pointed to a heavy door to the left of the bed. "Bathroom's there. The other one's a closet. And that one goes out to the rest of the house." He pointed at the other doors.

"Hope you don't mind company tonight. I'm bushed."

"You can share the bed. If you tell me the whole story."

"I swear. But shower first."

Clean and freshly clothed, Ginji's partner sprawled out on the bed beside him, relating the Case of the Missing Manuscript. He wore his hair down, like he had when they first started working together. It brought back good memories, but Ginji preferred it the other way, wild and spiky and careless. That was who Ban was now, and although Ginji loved the old Ban, this one had become even more important to him.

He frequently interrupted Ban's narrative, but Ban never squashed a question, even if he occasionally teased Ginji for needing to ask it. Every once in awhile he'd grimace, and say he hadn't thought of it at the time.

"See what happens when you're sick?" Ban groused, when Ginji asked him why he had left his back open in the office. "Everything gets screwed up." Then he frowned. "Well, not everything. I came across a sort-of luck charm after that."

He told him about the redhead who'd rescued him and about his encounter with Yoshida's gunmen in the car. Everything seemed to have clicked into place for Ban after that, which never, never happened. No one interrupted the surgery, nobody followed him back to Hana-chan's place, no one was waiting at her apartment. She didn't wake up when he took her clothes off, miracle of miracles, and -

"Ban-chan, you didn't!" Ginji yelped, horrified.

"I couldn't leave her in that bloody leather," Ban said defensively. "Besides, she was just a little girl. Basically. Nothing to look at even if I had been inclined."

"I thought you said she was pretty."

"She was. I dunno. Just not interested, I guess." He gave a weary chuckle. "Maybe she's a little too much like me for me to be attracted to her. Loud. Belligerent." Sagging against the headboard, he added quietly, "Soft, though. Too young."

Ginji cocked his head to one side. "You're softer than you think you are, Ban-chan. Even if she hadn't saved your life, you still would have made sure she got home safe. And you would have let her keep the manuscript." He didn't doubt it. He would have taken the jump drive from Shido-kun, and just about anybody else. But not a kid younger than Himiko, with scars like the ones he described.

"Shut up, lightning brat," Ban replied calmly, eyes closed. "I got a rep, you know."

Smiling, Ginji shook his head. "If you say so, Ban-chan. What happened after you - uh - put her in her jammies?"

"I took a 2000 yen note out of her wallet for cab fare, fed the dog, and left her an IOU. Then I -"

"Wait, you stole from her?"

"Borrowed, Ginji, pay attention. I called a cab -"

"You fed the dog?" Ginji laughed, and for once, managed to finish the laugh without coughing. "You made yourself right at home, didn't you?"

"He was hungry. Shut up. I called a cab and went back to the bank parking lot. Hojo - wait, did I tell you that part?"

"No - Hojo the mechanic Hojo?"

"Yeah. Remember I told you I thought he ran a chop shop on the side, last time we had the Ladybug in? Well, I was right. For the Caddy, he was willing to tow the damn thing himself and take care of it."

"I remember you telling me that. I don't remember what a chop shop is," Ginji admitted.

"Place where they disassemble stolen cars for parts."

"Oh, right. Okay, go on."

"Hojo'd left a note for me. Under the wipers. Lemme know he'd picked up the Caddy. I called the client, handed off the manuscript. Collected our fee. Came here."

Ban hadn't opened his eyes for awhile, and even as he spoke, his breathing was slowing down, evening out. Ginji suspected it was as much the brief, uncomfortable partnership with the girl that had so worn at Ban's energy reserves. Ginji had never heard Ban compare anyone to himself, and he wasn't exactly sure what he meant by it, but Hana-chan obviously intrigued him. It didn't matter to Ginji. Anyone who was like Ban-chan was someone worth knowing. He wanted to meet her, and told his partner so.

"Bet you will, Ginji. Outta Chuo. Prob'ly why we haven't run across her before. Hell of a Retriever."

He was mumbling now, and Ginji wasn't sure he was still really conscious of anything he said. In the morning, he probably wouldn't remember what a giant compliment he'd given her.

"Anyway. Not worried 'bout Takanowa. Toasted for insurance fraud, soon as Lucky hands in her target. Client called the Feds on Yoshida before I left."

"Lucky."

"Luck charm. Hana." His head dropped forward; he snapped it upright.

"Ban-chan."

"Mmm."

"G'night, Ban-chan," Ginji said quietly. "Thanks."

Ban was sitting on the comforter, so Ginji gently pulled it out from under him. His partner didn't need another hint; he dropped to his side, burrowed down into the covers. Ginji settled the blankets over Ban, then he sank down beside him. Before very many minutes had passed, both Get Backers were sleeping soundly.


	7. Chapter 7

When Himiko slipped into Ginji's bedroom late that night, closely followed by Shido and Kazuki, she bit her lips until they bled to hold back her laughter. She wasn't the kind of girl who laughed at just anything, but the position the Get Backers had got themselves into was more than even her equanimity could compensate for. Ginji lay on his stomach, but had twisted himself completely around in the bed. His feet were propped up on his partner's bared chest, one of which Ban had wrapped a long-fingered hand around. Blond spikes poked out from the comforter on her side of the bed, nearest the door. An arm dangled almost to the floor.

Ban's head was turned to the side, toward Ginji, and he was drooling on the pillow.

Shido came up behind her, and snorted. "Bastard," he said in a low voice. There was, Himiko noted, a flash of humor in his eyes, despite his affirmed distaste.

Kazuki, on the other hand, seemed pleased. Ginji was comfortable, happy, and that seemed a good enough reason for his former King to let his partner's irritating idiosyncrasies pass.

Himiko considered snapping a picture with her phone, but decided against it. The flash would wake Ban up, and she remembered enough of their life together to know that he only drooled when he was actually sleeping hard, something he seldom did. Guy was the most nervous sleeper she had ever met. It would be cruel to interrupt what had to be an extremely rare sense of security. Or, perhaps, a rest so desperately needed that even a light sleeper like Ban was out cold.

Sometimes she hated him, completely understood Shido's impatience with his condescending superiority and his mouthy brilliance. This was not one of those times. Just now, with his hair down like it was back then, with that self-congratulatory smirk replaced by a slack-lipped weariness, clinging to the only really constant thing in his world - just now, she didn't have the heart even to dislike him.

Shido and Kazuki had left her alone in the doorway, content that their old friend was sleeping soundly. Himiko lingered, watching the boys sleep. She permitted herself a small, private smile. Only someone like Ginji could stick with a guy who had Ban's atrocious luck. Or his atrocious attitude. And she was glad for it. There was no one else who had the patience to bear Ban's curse, even among the few who might have cared enough about him to try.

The sleeping Serpent-Bearer stirred, and Himiko shrank away from the door, holding her breath. But though a brief, slight grimace twisted his mouth, and a vague discontent revealed itself in his brows, his eyes remained closed. Himiko let out her breath as his restlessness dissipated. He was still holding onto Ginji's big foot.

"Sweet dreams, you big dummy," she murmured, and closed the door on the sleeping Get Backers. Tomorrow, or the next day, it would begin again. The car would be towed, and everything Ban had earned on this mission would be lost on parking fines and speeding tickets. Hevn would show up with some ridiculous assignment any fool could see meant trouble. Some shadow from the past would rise up to strike at the King of the Evil Eye, and Ban would once again find himself in the ugly, unenviable predicament of choosing between what was easy, what was sensible, and what was right. And when he made the right call, he'd be left empty-handed and down on his luck. Just like always.

Tonight was only a brief lull in the war the universe seemed determined to wage against him. But he had beside him someone who trusted him implicitly and believed in him absolutely, and whom he accorded the same unique honor. It was enough. It might not be a year from now, or two years from now, but for the moment, it was enough.

* * *

Blue woke to a soft, unfamiliar whimpering. Wriggling over the mattress to where she was, he prodded her back with his nose. She turned over and wrapped her forelimbs around him, burying her short, squashed-looking muzzle into his neck. It was wet, like it was sometimes after she got out of the bath.

He nuzzled the long fur on the top of her head and licked the space between her eyes, softly barking a question at her. Sometimes she answered.

Not that he understood everything she told him. She was complicated, but that was alright, most of the time. He got the gist of the important things she said, and the signals she made with her strangely shaped front paws. Follow me. Let go of that. Run away. Find it. Stay where you are. Sleep.

She never used that other command, and he was glad for it. He would obey her without question if she did, but she never had. They had practiced it together, more than once, but never with anything that bled. He loved her for that as much as anything.

She continued to whimper into his shoulder, that puppy-like, repetitive whine that was so unlike her usual voice. Not sure how best to comfort her, he rested his snout on top of her head. Her wet eyes were dripping into his fur.

"I should never have gone back to Shinjuku. I knew better." She tightened her embrace around his shoulders. "Too many goddamn ghosts."

The man she commanded him to guard had hurt his back, which was the only reason Blue had bitten him, but he suppressed a reflexive whimper as her paws dug into the bruised flesh. She would be sadder if she knew he was hurt, and she was already breaking his heart.

As the sun rose over Chuo, Blue watched light pour into the apartment and huffed a sigh of disappointment. They usually ran together when the sun came up, but she hadn't slept well, and he knew better than to ask.

Ah, well. His back hurt anyway. He snuffled her hair resignedly before turning away, to settle his head on the front paw she wasn't laying on top of, and listened to her cry.


End file.
